


Old Spice

by egglorru



Series: Stichirou [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: BDSM, Caning, Especially ch. 11 of Spice, Hurt/Comfort, If by that you mean Stuart hurts and then comforts his sub xD, Kevin is in the room instead of Neil, M/M, NSFW, The other characters are mentioned only in passing, This fic is only about Stuart and Ichirou in their twenties at the death of Riko, This fic makes no sense if you haven't read mishaschmidt's Sugar and Spice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 05:56:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egglorru/pseuds/egglorru
Summary: From mishaschmidt's Spice, ch.11: “The Ichirou Moriyama?” Neil asks in shock. The older guy owned one of the powerhouse universities with one of the greatest Exy teams, which had surprisingly continued to flourish after his half-brother had died almost two decades ago.An exploration of Stuart and Ichirou beginning a BDSM relationship, eighteen years before Sugar and twenty years before Spice. mishaschmidt's universe and interpretation of the characters are used with permission.





	Old Spice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Spice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319294) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Thank you, dear friend, for encouraging me to be brave in my writing, as I've always admired you for. I will not be ashamed of this fic. I also refuse to apologize for the title.

At 25, Stuart Hatford stood in the East wing of Castle Evermore, watching men escort Tetsuji Moriyama and a shaking, wide-eyed young man with black hair and green eyes out of the door. Ichirou Moriyama gave his brother’s body one last look and turned away, stripping off his gloves and handing them to a guard, before turning his gaze down to the court far below, which was in the process of being scrubbed and waxed following the Foxes’ victory over his Ravens.

This was rather more than Stuart was expecting out of an overseas business proposal. It was not every day one saw a member of a highly-protected bloodline kill his own kin, even if that kin was relegated to a lesser branch. Stuart would rather die than kill his own little sister, but acknowledged that the Japanese approach to inheritance and family value was intricate and very different from his own. It was not his place to comment.

Stuart leveled his scrutiny on the 23-year-old little Lord. To an untrained eye, he was a perfect study in unaffected calm, a mature, deliberate man just a few years Stuart’s junior, born to rule a kingdom. His face was as youthful and frozen as a Noh mask, but even a mask had eyeholes, and Stuart was well-adapted to gauging the emotions of a difficult sub, and this one was about to fall apart. His brother had never been allowed to mean something to him, but that didn’t mean the loss of him meant nothing.

“Moriyama,” He said, gentle and firm. The man’s head turned a few centimeters in his direction, indicating attention without giving him the honor of turning around fully. A perfectly trained display of respect without giving any ground. “Do you have someone to call about this?”

Ichirou Moriyama turned then, because Stuart was meant to see the disdainful, if not dangerous, eyebrow his question had warranted. “I am the Lord. I answer to no one." 

Stuart considered the truth of this, and felt saddened, because he knew that meant Moriyama had no one. A Dom could always tell a sub on sight, and this one had no one to depend on. He then weighed what needed to be said against Moriyama’s position and pride. “Might I speak to you in private?” Stuart's people immediately headed to the door.

Moriyama’s fingers barely twitched as he looked back out the window, watching the black-haired boy all but fall out of the elevator to meet up with a waiting blond one, but his men left the room promptly, closing the door behind them. 

Stuart wasted no time. “Man to man?” He inquired brusquely. “You need a Dom right now. Why don’t you have one?”

Moriyama tensed and turned sharply to face him, fully this time. “Excuse me?” The look in his eye and edge to his voice rendered him as beautiful and deadly as a katana.

Stuart simply tipped his chin up and waited. Moriyama was the leader of an empire much larger than Stuart’s own, but he couldn’t change his personality. Stuart could tell he was sub to his bones, no matter the ruler’s blood they were immersed in. A full minute passed before Moriyama looked to the side and answered, his tone biting. “I trust no man with that sort of power.”

“Ah,” Stuart nodded thoughtfully, his mind neatly making itself up as he glanced over Moriyama’s well-bred face, his long elegantly-tied hair, the suit perfectly tailored to his lithe frame. “Let me provide you with perspective, then. You cannot trust an outsider with the secrets of your family business and it has been ingrained into you never to kneel to a lesser man, as any man in your employ must be, given your position as Lord. Your only solution then is to turn to an equal.”

This time, curiosity and incredulity warred with disdain in that eyebrow, the only change to Moriyama’s mask. “No man is my equal.” It had the ring of a fiercely-believed truth.

Well, for now. Submission took time, in proud men.

“As close as a man can come, then. After all, I am here to do business between our families. This would just be a different sort of contract, would it not?”

“You? You wish to…dominate _me_.” And there, nearly imperceptible, was a slight waver in Moriyama’s tone as his eyes scanned Stuart’s body, his staunch, unwavering posture, his stocky frame, the biceps that pressed against his own well-tailored suit, the two inches of height Moriyama had to look up to meet his eyes again.

“I am not opposed to taking care of a sub in need, and am rather uniquely positioned to aid you without a loss to your discretion or dignity, as I stated.” He could tell Moriyama was giving it a second of thought, but only a second. This was a young man used to denying himself. “A wager, then. I know you like them. You’ve…never…let yourself submit, no? But I’m certain you’ve considered it intently, and I’m certain you’ve selected a safeword. If I can guess it, you will allow me to take care of you, just for today.”

Moriyama stared at him, unmoving, for a small eternity. “Guess, then.”

“Given your upbringing? The word that would pull you out of any BDSM scene is Father.”

Moriyama’s eyes widened in absolute shock, and the change took several false years of forced maturity off of his face. Stuart didn’t pause. He deepened his voice and ordered, quite firmly, “Come here, boy. Feet apart, wrists locked behind your back.”

And Moriyama simply moved, as ordered, as if his body was tethered directly to Stuart’s deep pitch. He came to a stop two feet away from Stuart, widened his stance, and then moved his arms behind his back. Stuart walked around him slowly, watching the way Moriyama tensed at having a man not in his vetted employ behind him. He lowered his eyes to observe the way Moriyama had the backs of his hands pressed flat against his lower back.

“I said lock. Clasp each wrist with the other hand,” He ordered, and Moriyama’s whole body gave a slight shudder as he obeyed. The telltale way he relaxed as soon as he’d complied with Stuart’s command was beautifully satisfying. “What are your your thoughts on pain? And give me your limits,” He commanded next, walking back around to Moriyama’s front. After a long pause, Moriyama responded, his eyes carving a furious hole in the carpet.

“Discipline is both a necessity and…pleasure, in my life. My limits are humiliation. The spilling of Main family blood. And disrespect.” His eyes once again met Stuart’s, cold and challenging.

Stuart arched an eyebrow. “To submit is to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of a Dom. It is not disrespectful for a Dom to take care of a sub. You need to learn this, intimately.” Moriyama’s gaze did not change. “Boy, if you can’t submit on your own I may just have to take my cane to you.”

The shiver that ran through Moriyama’s body was delightful to witness. After a moment, the man responded, rather softer than any previous address to Stuart’s person. “…Please do.”

A pleased smile curved Stuart’s lips. “You did not list aftercare or intimacy as limits. I want to confirm this to be the case.”

Moriyama nodded with only the briefest hesitation, and Stuart’s smile widened. He seized the man’s chin, pressed their lips together once firmly, and when he pulled away, he was graced with the treat of Moriyama’s wide eyes again. It put a rough edge to his deep tone when he ordered, “Clothes off, all of them. Neatly folded on the arm of the couch. Hands braced against the wall. Do not look at your brother.”

Moriyama’s entire body seized up at the reminder of why he was unable to hold himself together this evening in the first place, but Stuart had pressed on those fracture lines very deliberately. His cane would bruise Moriyama’s flesh, but they also needed it to break his resolve. A statue couldn’t be comforted. “ _Now_ , boy.”

Moriyama moved, stiff but graceful, a study in contrast. He kept his eyes on the armrest of the couch, undressed mechanically, revealing an absolutely gorgeous full-back tattoo of Mount Fuji, and a cherry tree in the forefront sending swirls of petals toward its deep misty blue majesty. An Asian dragon flew across his shoulder blades, ends wrapped around each bicep and claws cradling the snowy cap of the mountain as its claimed treasure. The tattoo was breathtaking and left no room for misinterpretation of the Moriyama family’s belief in their divine birthright. Stuart’s fingers itched to touch it, to mark it.

“It is _stunning_ ,” Was all he said.

Moriyama paused in folding his trousers, clearly taking a moment to distinguish _it_ from _you_. “I designed it,” He finally answered.

When he removed his silk briefs, Stuart informed him that _he_ was also stunning, and Moriyama sent him a look that was both haughty agreement and submissive pleasure. Moriyama did not look at his brother’s slumped corpse as he set his folded underwear on the pile of clothes and walked to the wall. He paused, tied his hair up from a low ponytail into a messy bun, and then widened his stance again and braced himself properly.

Stuart observed the stance with confusion. “You’ve never submitted." 

“That is not to say I didn’t earn and rather appreciate beatings for mistakes in my youth. Speaking of which, I suppose I should call you something…deferential, today. But I will not call you anything resembling a paternal title under any circumstances.”

Stuart smirked. “No, certainly not. And I suppose “Master” has a strong association with your uncle. “Sir” might do, but…” He chuckled suddenly. “Did you know? After my cousin…passed away…last year, I technically inherited the Barony of Hatford. I have not claimed the title because then one is expected to attend the Queen’s garden parties and that sort of thing, but it is no less my right. So it is with great pleasure that I inform you that I am, in fact, your equal in this regard: I am also a Lord, and you may call me thus.”

Moriyama turned his head to look at him again, and this time shock fought with an amused glimmer in his eyes. “You want me…to call _you…_ My Lord?”

Stuart tipped a pleased nod to the man, liking the sound of it on his tongue already. “I can tell that you don’t quite like " _boy",_ either. It rather falls into disrespect in your eyes, does it not? What shall I call you as I cane you, then?”

The reminder of the punishment sent a quick shiver down the length of that beautiful tattoo. “I do not like just "boy", no. My first name,” Moriyama said at length. “To allow that is to submit a degree of…equality to you, at least.”

“Wonderful. Now face the wall, Ichirou.” He did not miss the shiver at the given name. His eyes roved Ichirou’s back for a starting point, but then he paused.

"Ah, but would bruising that back invite damage to your tattoo?" Stuart wondered, eyeing Ichirou's rather lovely buttocks and thighs instead.

"I don’t believe so, as long as you do not cause cuts to the skin. And if bruising does cause any ink spreading, no matter. I have my tattoos touched up and added to quite regularly. I find the procedure...therapeutic."

"You find the pain to be a coping mechanism; you submit to an artist with a needle in place of a Dom," Stuart corrected, and Ichirou gave a slow, acquiescing nod. Stuart gave the dragon’s head on his shoulder a pleased pat for the admission as he walked to the door, by which he'd left his customary walking cane, which was additionally well-weighted for a good beating. Stuart greatly appreciated things with more than one purpose; they were efficient and interesting. Much like this business trip was turning out to be. A lucrative business deal, a chance to visit his sister and toddling nephew, if not that brother-in-law he rather didn't approve of, and now a chance to play for the first time in a long while.

Upon his return to Ichirou's back, he asked, “How old was your brother?”

He admired the way Ichirou’s back muscles tensed under the ink as he waited patiently for a reply. The answer took time, and came through gritted teeth. "21, _my Lord_." The tone was hard and disrespectful, but Stuart let Ichirou try to tether his grief to anger without comment. It would be set free soon enough.

"Then since it is his death you seek punishment and comfort for, that is how many blows you shall receive. I expect you to keep count, Ichirou."

Ichirou did not respond, did not relax.

"You lost this wager, Ichirou," Stuart reminded gently. "I know the strength of your honor is as strong as your native mountain. And in the end, your submission will grant you the peace of mind you seek. Let me punish you for your brother's death, so that I can forgive you for it."

His words sent a hard shudder through Ichirou’s entire body, and a long breath hissed audibly inward through Ichirou’s teeth before the man’s shoulders slumped, though his lean muscled arms remained stiff, bracing his palms flat against the wall. “I will count,” Ichirou finally responded.

“Yes you will,” Stuart said, pleased. He methodically unbuttoned his jacket and shirt as he continued to speak. “You’ve been caned?”

“By my father.”

“He drew blood?” He folded the two articles of clothing across the back of the couch and rolled his shoulder to warm it up.

“…Yes.”

“I have rather more skill than that. I shall start just below your shoulder blades. Please try to relax between blows.” At Ichirou’s nod, he assumed a proper stance and let fly an expert strike. A bright pink, perfectly straight line bloomed across Ichirou’s skin, turning a stripe of the mountain purple. The sound that left the young man was half scream and half the rest of the air in his lungs. A hand immediately left the wall to cover his mouth.

“Hand on the wall!” Stuart demanded harshly, and Ichirou’s body immediately moved to obey, even if both hands were now trembling, either from pain or indignity. He waited expectantly, and a hard swallow preceded the whisper he’d been waiting for.

“One, my…Lord.”

“Excellent, Ichirou. Your welt looks delectable, you know. Red is as suitable a color for your back as for your hands.” He gave the meaning a moment to sink in, and then struck again, thrice, steadily, allowing only enough time for Ichirou to suck in a breath and breathe out a number. The strikes were perfectly horizontal and almost perfectly spaced. Though it had been a while since he’d indulged in a sub, he’d not lost his touch.

He gave this sub a few moments to breathe and swallow and adjust his sweating palms against the wall before beginning again in earnest. He spaced his strikes methodically but randomly across the back, thighs, and ass, taking great delight in the way Ichirou’s muscular ass clenched in response. He paused a moment when he realized he could no longer see the tip of Ichirou’s flaccid cock peeking beneath his balls between his spread legs, and smiled.

“Sixteen, my Lord,” came the shaking response after several swallows.

“ _Very_ good, Ichirou,” he said, letting his full approval filter into his voice. Ichirou let out a sound that was suspiciously close to a sob, despite his best efforts to contain it. “I want to hear you, though. You must stop biting back how you feel. Submit, you are safe with me.”

Ichirou trembled for a moment, and then suddenly dropped from his palms to his forearms against the wall, his wrists having given out as he let out a rather louder sob. “Say it…again.”

Stuart obliged, pitching his voice deep and low and soothing. “You are safe, Ichirou. You can trust me and submit to me.”

Ichirou’s body heaved and shuddered against the wall. “Beat me, please, I _need_ …”

Stuart interrupted the request with the remaining five hard strikes, lining them cleanly between the angry red welts already on Ichirou’s skin, drawing no blood. Ichirou cried out painfully at each and choked out a number, forehead to the wall, shaking.

“Very, very well taken, Ichirou,” He complimented, honest in his admiration. He was sad it was done, given Ichirou hadn’t quite reached—

“May I…h-have five more…please?” It was so meek, he couldn’t help but shake his wrist out to comply, pleased beyond all expectation.

“Of course, pretty boy,” Stuart murmured. “Tell me where. You should see your backside, Ichirou, the stripes are so lovely. Tell me where you want me to fill them in.”

Ichirou gasped for air without answering for almost a minute. “My ass,” Ichirou whispered after a quick sniffle, so quiet that Stuart almost had to step closer to catch the rest. “I want to feel it when I sit, especially.”

“Lovely choice,” Stuart said approvingly. “Brace yourself once more.” He lifted his cane in response to Ichirou resting on his forearms, and laid five rapid strokes between the welts on Ichirou’s ass, coloring it in a solid red. The final strike he made dead across the middle and the hardest strike of all, and Ichirou…broke.

It was beautiful to witness, the way he buckled almost soundlessly against the wall, shuddering hard, and Stuart immediately dropped the cane in favor of catching and cradling Ichirou in his arms, lowering them to the floor. Ichirou’s lovely face was a mess of tears, red from exertion and his eyes nearly glazed over with pleasure and pain. His erection was flagging, cum streaking the wall, and he pressed his face into Stuart’s shoulder with a hoarse sob when Stuart tugged his bun loose and sifted fingers into his fine, straight hair.

“Shhhh,” Stuart soothed. “I’m so proud of you, Ichirou.” Ichirou sobbed brokenly, bringing heavy arms up around his neck, and he hugged the man close in response. “I am so proud of you,” He repeated fervently. “You did what had to be done to protect your assets, without hesitation. And then you took your punishment perfectly. You’re forgiven, Ichirou.”

Ichirou quaked in his arms and slumped against him, breaths beginning to come more slowly, and Stuart’s throat tightened as he realized Ichirou was starting to float for perhaps the first time ever. He ignored his own erection, though he carefully wiped Ichirou’s mess off the wall with his pocket kerchief. Then he turned an eye to the door, pressed his nose and lips into Ichirou’s hair – jasmine, lovely – and let himself drift into Domspace.

It was at least an hour before he found himself coming back. Ichirou’s eyes were almost closed, his face relaxed, and Stuart hated to bring him out of it but was loath to let Ichirou’s men become concerned enough to check on him in this state. His own people knew better than to interrupt him. He slowly scooped Ichirou into his arms, carried him to a second couch away from his brother, and quickly moved to the bar in the corner, coming back with a wet cloth, a bottle of water and a wedge of lime. He enhanced the water with the vitamin-filled fruit and settled an unresisting Ichirou back into his arms.

“Ichirou,” He murmured gently, brushing long strands of hair away from his tear-stained face before wiping his cheeks with the cool cloth, cleaning him tenderly. When Ichirou started to stir, he pressed a kiss to his forehead. Ichirou turned his lips pliantly upward and Stuart smiled as he brought their mouths together for a languid, heated kiss. Ichirou was too foggy to really put effort into it, but that was simply a reminder of how beautifully Ichirou had finally submitted to him, and he smiled as he parted their lips.

“Shall I help you get dressed?” He asked after helping his sub through several sips of water, and Ichirou nodded, albeit with a gentle pinch between his eyebrows. Stuart waited, but Ichirou did not voice his thoughts. Instead the little Lord painstakingly climbed off of Stuart’s lap without assistance, walking slowly to his clothes. He allowed Stuart to help him dress, and then seemed to notice for the first time that Stuart had been shirtless as his eyes hungrily but silently mourned the skin disappearing slowly beneath buttons.

“You look much better,” Stuart commented as Ichirou straightened his posture, much more relaxed than before.

“…Thank you,” Ichirou responded. For the compliment. For the beating. For all of it, Stuart knew. He wouldn’t press Ichirou to be specific, this time. He knew he was overwhelmed, although in a good way.

“But the matter still weighing on your mind is…?” Stuart prompted as he tucked his last suit button into place. He straightened and waited, maintaining full eye contact, until the calm arrogance slowly resuming in Ichirou’s gaze faded rapidly once again and the younger man cleared his throat.

“We’re done?” _I submitted today, and is that all you wanted of me?_ He meant.

“I would never press a sub to sign a contract after coming out of subspace,” Stuart reprimanded him, and Ichirou gave him that lovely wide-eyed look once more. “I assume you do not want me to accompany you home to tend to your wounds, this time. You’ve submitted long enough for your first session and probably wish to regain a sense of control.” Ichirou confirmed his suspicion with one firm nod. “Then I expect you to use bruise salve when you get home. You are flexible enough to accomplish this yourself? Do you lotion your own tattoos?” Another nod.

“I will give you one day to reflect on our scene here today before emailing you a contract for a long-distance but exclusive BDSM relationship, along with our other business proposition. Take your time studying the contract, make any changes you wish to discuss, and send it back. I will be back in Britain by then, but you can reach me on the phone or by email any time. Do you have any immediate concerns, before you resume your position of power?”

Ichirou had relaxed further and further under the precise commands, except for a brief twitch at the moment he’d said the word “exclusive”.

“I’m not a complete stranger to the lifestyle, you know. I have a club that I sometimes Dom at with nearly as much skill as you, and no feelings attached. It provides an outlet so that I don’t execute the morons around me…at least on a rather more regular than healthy basis.”

“Oh?” Stuart nearly grinned at the haughty, reluctant compliment to his skill, but instead arched a slow eyebrow at this heretofore-withheld information that his sub was a switch. “I prefer exclusivity.”

“Your preference is noted and dismissed. Take this into account in your draft of the contract.”

Stuart reached out and gripped a handful of Ichirou’s long hair, yanking his head taut and staring down into his eyes. Ichirou bit his lip, but at Stuart’s insistent eyebrow and tug on his hair, released it and let his moan quietly filter through, eyes sliding shut. “Pretty boy,” Stuart praised. “I insist you at least exclusively _sub_ to me.”

“Obviously,” Ichirou responded, unmoving. His eyelids didn’t even flutter. “You’re my only equal, my Lord, though that doesn’t leave this room.”

Stuart smirked. “We will schedule playtime when we can. And you will call me whenever you are _close_ to a breakdown, not when you are _about_ to break down, as it’s rather a long flight.”

“Yes,” Ichirou breathed, bringing a hand up to clutch Stuart’s shoulder.

“And each time I visit, you will tell me about your club activities, and I will punish you accordingly for whoring around with other people. _I prefer exclusivity_.”

Ichirou gave a bodily shudder at the word “whoring” that Stuart found delightful and interesting, given his aversion to humiliation. “Yes,” the man whispered almost reverently, and Stuart took his mouth in a hard kiss to reward him.

“If you sign that contract, next time you will kneel for me, Ichirou. We will do it someplace we can take our time with no potential for interruption, and I will fuck you.”

Ichirou swallowed slowly, and gently exhaled one more “yes.” Stuart dropped another soft kiss to his lips, lingering pleasurably.

“Bruise cream,” He reminded as he let go of Ichirou’s hair. He didn’t miss the quiet whimper when he released his grip and set the hair tie in Ichirou’s palm. He walked to the door, watching the man fix his hair with appreciation and nodding to confirm when it looked untouched. “Moriyama,” He nodded respectfully as he opened the door. The bodyguards waiting outside turned to observe the state of their Lord and found no cause for concern.

“Hatford,” Moriyama returned with cold, unaffected politeness. There were no comments made about the slight puffiness of his lips. “I expect the proposal and contract within twenty-four hours.”

“Of course,” Stuart replied, biting back a grin at the willful delivery of his own terms. “Always a pleasure, Moriyama.”

When Stuart checked his phone upon return to the hotel room, he had a waiting email from the little Lord.

 

_I savor this ache_

_and needed the cane today_

_but crave more your palm._

_–I_

Stuart grinned at the haiku, imagining Ichirou sitting on his aching ass while typing it, and he pulled up a basic contract template to make a special note of spanking in Ichirou’s likes. He sent back:

_Given our unfortunate though necessary distance, I expect you shall continue to stave off a more constant need for a Dom by yielding to the tattoo needle. I look forward to seeing the work of art that is your body as it grows ever more beautiful with time, my pretty boy. -Baron_

 

~~Seventeen years later~~~

 

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” Stuart announced vehemently as he opened Moriyama’s office door without knocking. He appreciated the ensuing brief flashes through Moriyama’s mask: surprise, righteous incredulity, confusion.

“…Hatford,” Moriyama responded after a pause, choosing not to submit until he knew the occasion of the unexpected visit.

Stuart continued, pacing in front of the desk as he ranted. “The _worst_ thing to ever happen to my family was your fucking Butcher. I’ve suspected it for years, and today I’ve confirmed it. He _killed_ her, dammit. He killed my Mary and he was torturing my poor little nephew, and not in the fun way. Family comes first, Moriyama. I killed the bastard. I came to tell you in case you were wondering why he wasn’t answering his phone.”

Moriyama’s eyes widened quite a bit, and then narrowed intently. “That is…quite a blow to my family, Hatford, I won’t lie. How do you intend to make up for this deficit?”

Stuart settled himself into a leather chair in front of Moriyama’s desk without asking first. “Well…” A small grin threatened the corners of his mouth. “I’ve always been a rather hands-on boss. I thought perhaps when you weren’t busy calling me Lord, I might call you Lord myself.”

“You want to be my wetwork man?” Ichirou looked mildly bemused, if one didn’t know how to tell that he was completely floored by the suggestion. “And your own family?”

“It is one thing of two things I’d like to be, and both require a move to the States. I’ve left the barony to a distant but competent cousin.” Stuart crossed his legs calmly.

“I see. And…what is the other thing you’d like to be?”

Stuart stood up slowly and walked around the desk, tapping the arm of Ichirou’s chair. Ichirou immediately slid out of it and turned to kneel at its left. Stuart sat and cupped Ichirou’s throat, squeezing lightly. “Although I’ve yielded my title, I expect that your deference to me is too habitual by now to make the change as well. I’ve been your as-needed Dom for seventeen years, Ichirou. It’s about time I got around to collaring you.”

There was a hard swallow against his hand before Ichirou responded, “A collar would ruin my image. You know this.” His voice was a pained whisper, on the cusp of longing for something they’d both thought about plenty but he’d never let himself have.

“No.” Stuart grinned fully this time and traced a simple line around the base of Ichirou’s throat, above the collarbone. “But I seem to recall my sub finds tattoos to be…therapeutic. Yes?”

Slowly, Ichirou tipped his head forward until his forehead rested on Stuart’s thigh. A shudder wracked through his body and he whispered, “Yes.” When he turned his head and rested his cheek on Stuart’s leg to look up at him, his eyes were wet and his lips bore the most open smile Stuart had ever seen. “Yes. To both. My Lord.”

Stuart returned his brilliant smile and responded in kind with a deferential dip of his chin, “My Lord.”


End file.
